


Decorative Gourd Season

by Petits Pois (letsgogetlost)



Series: Amerihawk Week 2018 [4]
Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, AmeriHawk, Amerihawk Week 2018, DECORATIVE GOURD SEASON MOTHERFUTZERS, Deaf Clint Barton, M/M, Steve Rogers is Basic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 09:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16261424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letsgogetlost/pseuds/Petits%20Pois
Summary: In an alternate universe, Clint's a barista and Steve is still Captain America.And one of them really loves gourds.It's Decorative Gourd Season, Motherfutzers!





	Decorative Gourd Season

**Author's Note:**

> Amerihawk Week 2018, Theme 4: ~~Smut or~~ Fluff
> 
>  
> 
> This fic is dedicated to Nallelers, the Steve to my Clint in several small but important ways, who sent me the thing that inspired all of this and helped develop the story via text message jokes, and who I found out later had never read the humor piece it references. I've been shouting "It's decorative gourd season, motherfuckers!" at her for years with no context.
> 
> In case you, too, have not read the masterwork that is "It's Decorative Gourd Season, Motherfuckers": https://www.mcsweeneys.net/articles/its-decorative-gourd-season-motherfuckers

Natasha's phone started to buzz in the middle of the morning, and wouldn't stop. It was making so much noise on her desk that she had to move it to her pocket, and slip out to the bathroom to see what Clint wanted - because only Clint ever blew up her phone like that.

 **Clint:** Help  
**Clint:** Tasha there's some weird guy here  
**Clint:** He isn't using a computer or looking at his phone or anything  
**Clint:** He's just sitting there  
**Clint:** I'm afraid

 **Natasha:** I want you to know I'm rolling my eyes right now  
**Natasha:** He's probably just chilling out

 **Clint:** No one chills out like that anymore, it's not the past

 **Natasha:** What's his deal, what'd he order

 **Clint:** Dunno, Kate served him and she's on break now

 **Natasha:** So shouldn't you be working

 **Clint:** Slow morning  
**Clint:** I'm still afraid. He's looking out the window. Like some… indie movie heroine or something.

 **Natasha:** Maybe your manic pixie dream boy has finally come for you

 **Clint:** No one would call him a pixie, he's like 6'2"  
**Clint:** And very chill  
**Clint:** Chill Giant Dream Man

 **Natasha:** You think he's hot

 **Clint:** No, I think he's scary  
**Clint:** Okay fine I think he's hot  
**Clint:** HE'S LEAVING

 **Natasha:** PROBABLY BECAUSE YOU'RE STARING AT HIM

 **Clint:** I wasn't! I'm sneaky! I learned from you and you're the best!

 **Natasha:** Thanks babe. Now I need to actually go do my job.

 

Clint's weird no-electronics man came back to the coffee shop three days running. Always in mid-morning, between the rushes. Always with no phone or laptop, though he did bring a book the third day. Clint usually worked the espresso machine, not the counter, but he did serve him once. He learned two things in those three days: Chill Giant Dream Man was polite and not at all talkative, and he drank pumpkin spice lattes.

Chill Giant Dream Man was Basic, and Clint loved it.

 

The fourth day, he had a book again, and Clint snuck a picture and sent it to Natasha.

 **Natasha:** Yeah okay Chill Giant Dream Man is hot  
**Natasha:** Also I know him

Clint made a weird, llama-just-got-a-nasty-surprise noise. He couldn't help it. And one person turned around. One.

Clint disappeared behind the counter, ending up crouched on the floor, because Chill Giant Dream Man had looked _right at him_. He pulled his phone back out.

 **Clint:** YOU WHAT  
**Natasha:** I know him, he's from work.  
**Natasha:** Kind of.  
**Clint:** Do I even want to know?  
**Clint:** Is he dangerous, was I right. Do I need to evacuate.  
**Natasha:** You're fine. He's chill.

"Excuse me?" 

Clint jumped about a foot. Someone was talking right above his head - oh, right. Because he was crouched behind a coffee shop counter instead of serving customers like he was supposed to.

He didn't get up, though, just craned his neck and - yep, of course, right above him, leaning way over the counter, there was Chill Giant Dream Man.

"Y-yes?" Clint said. Playing it cool. Or something.

"Are you all right?"

He scrambled to his feet. "Yes! Fine! Sorry. Dropped my phone." He waved it in the air, then stuck it in his pocket.

"Really?"

"Er…"

"Please don't tell anyone I'm here."

"Sorry, what?"

"The people, with their cameras, whatever they're called, they like me but they haven't figured out I come here."

"The paps?"

"Sure?"

"No worries. It's just, uh… I have no idea who you are but I _may_ have texted a photo of you to my friend because reasons and she says she works with you."

"Oh? Who?"

"Natasha Romanov?"

Chill Giant Dream Man's face broke out in a smile. "Yes! Agent Romanov. I like her. You're friends?"

"Mmhm. Really old friends. She got me this job, actually."

"Really! Well. Any friend of Agent Romanov is a friend of mine. I'm Steve Rogers."

He held out his hand, and Clint took it, after only hesitating for a second. "Clint Barton."

"Nice to meet you, Clint. I like your coffee. You're the one who works the machine, right?"

Clint grinned. "Yup! She's my baby." He patted the espresso machine, which hissed in response. Steve looked mildly alarmed. He was weird. Clint liked it. "Lemme know if you ever want anything special, I like being challenged."

"Yeah?" Steve grinned, too, and their eyes caught for just a second. "Well. Good to know. I'm going to head out. Have a good day, Clint."

"You too, Steve."

As soon as he was out of the shop, Clint pulled out his phone again, pushing Kate to take over the counter as she came wandering back from her break. 

 

 **Clint:** He caught me.  
**Clint:** Also I think he flirted with me???  
**Natasha:** Really? He doesn't seem like a flirt.  
**Clint:** ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
**Clint:** Should I know who he is, he said the papa… ratsy? Like him  
**Natasha:** Paparazzi. And you should but I know you don't pay attention to the news  
**Clint:** Are you going to tell me or should I google him, he introduced himself  
**Natasha:** I'll stop by this afternoon

 

"THAT'S THE ICE MAN?"

Natasha, always way too calm, just nodded.

"Is that why you kept making chill jokes."

And that just got a shrug.

"You're the worst."

"I know."

"So should I like… I dunno… I don't know what to do with this information."

"Nothing? He likes your shop. He likes you, it seems like. He doesn't go out a lot, so if he's hanging out here, it's because he feel relaxed, and safe. You're good at making this place like that… you're good at that in general. So just, keep doing what you're doing. And maybe don't call him basic to his face."

"Noted."

"Good." She kissed his cheek. "Now get behind that machine and make me a mocha, I need to go."

 

 

Natasha Romanov anticipated most things in life. It was one of her skills - she was hard to surprise.

That said, she was surprised when Steve Rogers showed up at her desk the next afternoon.

"Agent Romanov? May I speak to you, ma'am?"

"Oh - Captain Rogers - of course. Please, have a seat."

He did, sitting down slowly in the chair beside her desk. He seemed like he did everything so carefully, she noted. Like he was afraid of breaking things.

"I hope I'm not interrupting you, ma'am."

"No. And you don't have to call me ma'am. I rank lower than you, and I don't like it, anyway."

"Yes, Agent."

There was a silence, and then she shot him a sly smile.

"So, I hear you met my friend Clint."

"Yes… yes. That's actually why I'm here."

"I thought it might be."

"He seems nice?"

"He is. He's the kindest, most helpful man I know."

Steve nodded, like he'd just been given an order. "Does he own the shop?"

"No. Another friend does. But he manages it. And it's his name."

Another nod. "And he's trustworthy?"

"Extremely."

"I thought so."

"You're a good judge of character." She didn't really understand why this conversation was happening, but she felt that way about lots of conversations. At least this one was about something she cared about.

"And, uh, where is he from? Not New York."

"You know, you could ask him some of these things yourself. Maybe not about his character, he's very self-deprecating, but anything else. He'd friendly. And he gets bored during the mid-morning slump and starts texting me, when I'm meant to be working. You'd be doing me a favor if you distracted him."

That, finally, raised a little smile. "Message taken, Agent. Should I ask him or you why he was texting you a photo of me? 'Because reasons' wasn't a very clear excuse."

Natasha smiled, too. "He'll freeze up if you ask that, so ask me. I will swear that he wasn't trying to be rude, though that was very rude of him. He was just interested in you. He had no idea you knew me."

"Interested in me?"

"You sit in coffee shops and don't stare at your phone, he was afraid you were dangerous."

Steve chuckled, and stood up. "Thank you, Agent. I'm sorry to take up your time."

"Any time, Captain Rogers. Really." She stood, too, and nodded as he turned to leave.

She did not tell Clint about it.

 

The next time Clint saw Steve, he came through the front door and them immediately turned around, left the shop, looked at the outside, and came back in. That was odd, even for him.

When he approached the counter he still looked a little disoriented, so Clint sidled up beside Kate, and elbowed her before she began talking.

"Hey, Steve, you all right?"

"Yeah, uh - " He took another look around the space. "It's different in here today."

"It's decorative gourd season, motherfucker!"

That was a mistake. Clint knew it as soon as it was out of his mouth. Steve looked so confused, and what was more, a little hurt.

Kate, meanwhile, ended up with her head down on the counter, howling with laughter.

"Oh my god," Clint sputtered, "Fuck, I'm sorry. You don't, uh… you don't really spend much time online, do you."

Steve just shook his head, though the hurt look was clearing away now.

"It's a line from a thing… on a joke website… kind of… it's a joke. About the season. And how much people like, you know, decorative gourds." He picked up one from the counter and shook it a little, like that explained it. It was a good one, very knobby and about six different colors, with a twisty neck. It was one of his favorites of the approximately 75 he'd scattered around the shop first thing that morning, along with leaf garlands and decorative corn and anything else vaguely autumnal he'd managed to find at the farm stand upstate the day before.

"Decorative gourds."

"Decorative gourds."

Steve just blinked at him, then started laughing. "I'll add that to the list of things I don't understand."

"Aw, no, that's just sad! Here. It's time for my break. I'll make you a coffee - free - and come try to explain it. If you want."

"You don't have to do that… and I can pay…"

"Nope, it's on the house, because I called you a mother-effer in front of the whole shop. Pumpkin spice again? Or I can make you something new, I had an idea about cinnamon and honey…"

"That sounds interesting. Go for it."

Clint grinned at him. "Great. Go, sit, I'll bring it over." 

 

Clint appeared beside Steve's table a few minutes later, holding two mugs. Steve smiled and took the one he was offered, then nodded at the chair across from him.

"Oh, really? You don't need to, I can go in the back."

"No, you offered to explain to me - if you want -"

"I do want." Clint sat down. Steve was already sipping at his coffee, and when he put the mug down, Clint met his eyes. "What'd'you think?"

"It's good. Really good."

"Better than pumpkin spice?"

"Now, I wouldn't say that."

Clint just smiled at him and sat back in his chair, sipping at his own coffee. He certainly thought it was better, but he was iffy on pumpkin spice anyway. "So. Gourds."

"Gourds." Steve smiled across the table at him. He sure did have a nice smile.

"So it's like… people like decorating with weird gourds." He gestured around the coffee shop, which definitely was not big enough to fit the 75-100 gourds and all the other decorations. "It's a Thing. So this humor site put this piece online about it, and it's funny, I guess, and people picked up that phrase from it and say it to… communicate how excited they are about fall, I guess?"

"Ah. All right. Do you have it, could I read it?"

"Uh - probably, I'll have to find it." After some poking around on his phone, he found it, and handed it over.

It raised a few chuckles and one outright from Steve, but then he went quiet, and finally handed it back. "I feel like some of that was over my head," he said. "Pop culture references, I assume."

"Oh… yeah… sorry."

Steve gave him a soft smile. "It's all right. So - is it you that loves the decorative gourds? Did you do this? I barely recognized the place."

"Yeah, I saw you do a double-take. And yeah. It's all me. Coulson lets me. Kate thinks it's ridiculous but I'm the manager so she doesn't get to decide. I just… really like fall, y'know?"

"I mean - I guess? I never liked fall that much, everything gets cold, and I always got sick then when I was young."

"Mm, yeah, I get it. I don't really know why it's my favorite, but it is. Fall's nice. Halloween's fun. And like… when I was a kid, I didn't get to enjoy it. We never had any money, 'n we lived way out in the country so we never got to trick-or-treat like the kids on TV. A couple of times, we had a jack-o'-lantern. The greatest of all decorative gourds. But beyond that, we never really had nice holidays, and it wasn't much better when we were in foster care. So now, I can decorate, so I do. I finally get to enjoy it." When he was done, his eyes met Steve's, briefly, and somehow sharing that all felt okay, because Steve's eyes were soft, and he was nodding.

"I understand that. Really. I always thought Halloween was kind of scary, but I love Christmas. Growing up in the Depression, with only my mom, and then she died, and then the war… we had so little, but my mom tried hard to make Christmas nice, and I still love it."

"Good - maybe you can help me decorate. I'm not as good at Christmas."

Steve grinned. "I'd like that." It felt genuine. Like it might actually happen. Clint smiled back.

"So Halloween was scary?"

"Yeah. The costumes, and the mischief…"

"I think there's less of that now. I mean, New Jersey has Mischief Night the night before, but that's just one more reason to avoid New Jersey."

Steve chuckled. "Glad to know some things haven't changed."

Clint laughed, too, and their eyes met, but then he looked away. "I've got to get back to work, but… see you around, yeah?"

"Yeah. Thanks for the coffee."

"Thanks for not getting angry that I called you a mother-effer."

Steve just laughed and waved him off, and Clint felt pretty warm inside as he headed back behind the counter.

 

Clint was busy the next few days, though he always made Steve's coffee when he came in - sometimes pumpkin spice, and sometimes the new concoction Clint had come up with, which Kate had dubbed "The Sweater Weather". 

The next time it was quiet at mid-morning, though, Clint took his break and showed up at Steve's table again, hovering a little until Steve smiled up at him.

"Hey. Can I join you?"

"Of course." Steve stood up while he sat down, too, which confused Clint for a second until he remembered Steve was literally from the past and it was probably some kind of old politeness thing.

"How's it going?" Clint asked, once they were both settled.

"Oh, you know."

"I absolutely do not know."

Steve met his eyes and laughed like Clint had surprised him. "No, I suppose not. Things are always a bit strange, but it's fine."

"Hm. Yeah. Makes sense." They both sipped their coffees. 

"Can I ask you a question?" Steve asked, breaking the silence.

"Of course."

"Are you Hawkeye? Like in the name?" He pointed at his coffee cup, which had _Hawkeye Coffee_ printed on the side.

"Yep! That's me. I used to be in the circus. That was my stage name."

"You were in the circus?"

"Yeah. Weird, I know. I was an archer." He mimed drawing a bow, and grinned. "It was a long time ago, now. But the nickname kind of stuck."

"How was it possibly a long time ago, you look like you're about 22."

"Excuse me, I think I'm probably older than you. I'm 31."

Steve scoffed and shook his head. "I have no idea how old anyone is anymore. Everyone dresses like kids - don't look at me like that, it's not an insult - and people don't get married at 18 and have lots of kids immediately anymore."

"Some people do. I'm from Iowa. Plenty of people do out there. But it's not great."

"Yeah. I don't think that's a loss. People seem… freer now. There's more options for lots of people."

"Yeah." They faded into quiet again, drinking their coffee.

"You okay?" Steve asked, after a minute.

"Oh - yeah." Clint hadn't even noticed he was frowning, but Steve had. "I was just thinkin' about what it would have been like if I'd been born when you were. Probably terrible. Even worse than it was anyway."

"Even worse… No, sorry, none of my business."

Clint shrugged. "The way it was looking, in my head… my childhood was pretty rough anyway. Really rough. But it got better when I was older. But if I'd been born a long time ago, it could have been even worse, and… it's not a nice thought. 'Cause, see - I'm gay. That wouldn't have been great, it could have been illegal, right? And I don't know what it was like being Deaf back then, but probably harder." He shrugged. "So it could've been pretty terrible."

"Oh - ah -" Steve was looking at him, head cocked, and Clint suddenly realized that he'd just told someone from the presumably very homophobic past that he was gay. But hey, at least if Steve was going to wig out about that, it was happening early. Before Clint got too attached. More attached than he already was. "You're Deaf?"

"Oh! Yes?"

"Are those - I thought they were for music. Or phone." He brushed the top of his own ear.

"Oh, no. Nope. Hearing aids. I'm not totally Deaf, I get by pretty well with them and with lip-reading."

"I had no idea. I try to be aware, but things have passed me by."

He looked unhappy, so Clint leaned in a little, his voice softening. "It's okay man, how were you to know? And it's been no problem, you're easy to understand." 

"Oh. Okay." The sad look cleared off Steve's face again, replaced by a bright smile. "And - if you don't mind me asking - you're gay?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm bi!"

Clint started back a little, then laughed happily, because Steve sounded so happy. "Excellent!" 

Steve chuckled. "Sorry. It's still exciting to just say it. And to have people around who just say it, also. We got by okay in the 40s, most of the time, but you're right, things were different. I like this better."

Clint gave him a wide smile. "Good - I'm glad. Genuinely."

Steve smiled back, shifted - and then turned his head towards the counter. Clint looked too, and there was Kate, frantically waving at him, and then tumbling into a rush of signs about something going on with the espresso machine, which was letting off an alarming amount of steam.

"Shit, my baby! Sorry, Steve, I need to go -"

"No problem, I'll see you later."

Clint nodded, and waved at him, and went running for the machine. It took a little while to get it back to normal, and when he was done, Steve was gone.

 

And then, Steve didn't come back. That was Thursday, and he didn't show up on Friday. It put Clint on edge. Steve had had a routine, which meant Clint had a routine. It bothered him that it had been broken - it _worried_ him that it had been broken. Steve did work for SHIELD after all, in some way, and sometimes people who worked for SHIELD stopped coming back, and Natasha wouldn't talk about it, and that was that. Or maybe - and somehow this one bothered him more - maybe Steve didn't want to come back. Maybe he'd gotten spooked by their conversation. Or by how much Clint liked him, because surely that was obvious. Clint had been toying with the idea of asking him on a date when the espresso machine cockblocked him. The thought had only grown in intensity that evening, going back over their conversation in his head, and the way he felt when their eyes met, and how happy Steve always looked to see him. And Steve was so kind, he probably wouldn't be weird about it if he wasn't into it, and they could keep being friendly in the shop.

But Steve still didn't come back. Not when Clint filled in on a shift on Sunday, and not on Monday, either, or Tuesday. He was beginning to lose hope - meaning he was beginning to think he was going to have to ask Natasha.

 

He came back on Wednesday.

Clint didn't even see him. He'd kind of tried to stop looking - it was driving Kate crazy, and making him feel a little sick to his stomach, constantly checking when the door opened and not seeing Steve there. So on Tuesday he'd decided to just hide behind the espresso machine and keep his eyes off the door, and he was doing that on Wednesday when Kate touched his elbow and he jumped about a foot, looking over to her - and she was nodding across the counter, where Clint's view was blocked by the machine and the row of pumpkins he'd lined up on top of it. He took a step to the side to see what she wanted him to see, and there was Steve.

Steve, wearing a very soft-looking sweater Clint hadn't seen before, and looking rather abashed. He had his hands behind his back, too, but when he saw Clint he brought one hand out.

It was holding a gourd. A really, really beautiful one, with smooth skin and subtle, speckley stripes. 

"Is that for me?"

Steve nodded, and Clint abandoned his post and came around the counter. Their hands met as he took the gourd, and there was a very definite, weighty pause before he drew back to inspect it. 

"It's beautiful, I've never seen one like it before." He looked back up at Steve, who was watching him intently.

"I wanted to apologize," Steve said, his cheeks going a little pink. "I didn't mean to disappear - I got called away for work and I didn't have any way to get in touch with you."

"Oh - I - that's okay, you didn't need to -"

"But I wanted to."

"Oh." Clint attempted a cheeky grin. "We need to get you a cell phone."

"Yes, probably." Steve smiled back, but then looked down at the gourd Clint was holding, breaking eye contact for a moment, before looking back up suddenly, his expression totally different. Intent. Cheeks still flushed. "Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Absolutely."

Now Steve was smiling, a huge grin - and then he bit his lip, which was a lot for Clint, really. But he held it together.

"I'd say to text me, but…"

"I'll get a phone. Today. Really. And then… figure out how to text. Give me your number?"

Clint laughed. "How about this. We set a time and place now, and if you need to change it, leave a message on the coffee shop voicemail. Then, if you want, we'll go phone shopping on Saturday."

"That sounds good."

"Good."

Clint looked down at the gourd still in his hands, then moved one of the pumpkins on top of the espresso machine and put the gourd where it had been. In pride of place, and where he could see it all day. When he looked back over his shoulder, Steve was blushing again, smile on his face, lip between his teeth. If only he knew what that did to Clint. Well, he'd find out, soon enough.


End file.
